


Family

by Slimslash, without_me



Category: NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: Acceptance, Awkward, Coming Out, Crying, Early Days, Kissing, M/M, Orlando - Freeform, rooftop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:32:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slimslash/pseuds/Slimslash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/without_me/pseuds/without_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after the BMG exec told NSYNC to change their name and lose Lance if they wanted a record deal? Originally posted August 12, 2002.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family

"I'm sorry, guys." Johnny sounds sincere. Johnny always sounds sincere. "I wish I didn't have to even tell you at all, but... it's your careers. It's your decision. I can't make it for you." 

Lance is surprised he can understand the words. There's an echo in his head and he's afraid for a minute he might pass out. He can feel the tears, hot behind his eyelids, and he makes his eyes very wide to hold them back, looking off toward the window so he won't meet anyone else's gaze. He's almost seventeen now. Way too old to be crying in public. 

Then his heart starts again, or that's what it feels like, anyway, and the blow against his ribs shocks him back into motion. He stands up, trying not to wobble on his feet, and turns to the guys, still without making eye contact. "I'll go, um--" He nods vaguely toward the door. "So you can discuss things." He hates himself for running away like this, making it that much clearer that he's a loser, that he _doesn't_ belong, but he has no choice. Some things he can do--rehearsals when he's so tired his eyes won't open, for example, or smiling while yet another group of industry people talk about them in voices too low to understand--and some he can't ( _like dancing_ ), and sitting there and listening while they hash out the best way to replace him is in the "can't" category. Two more steps and he's out the door, in the hallway, heading for the men's room, the only refuge he can imagine here in Transcon's offices. 

He hadn't realized he was going to throw up, only actually becomes aware of it as he's lurching to his knees in the grimy bathroom. Breakfast hadn't been all that appetizing the first time, but it's worse now, and he shudders, disgusted with himself through and through as he retches and spits. _Not up to the level of the other guys._ It's not like he didn't know it; they all knew it, but hearing it--even in Johnny's sympathetic retelling, he can hear the BMG executive's accent, see the scorn in his eyes. 

His body finally stops shuddering and he reaches up, head still hanging over the bowl as he reaches out to flush the toilet. He'll get to his feet in a second, rinse his mouth, but first he tears off some of the rough toilet paper and wipes his face, wet with tears and sweat. Spits again. He wants to curl up in the corner and cry. He lets himself think about that for a second and a half or so before taking a breath and starting to push himself to his feet. 

His eyes snap open when he feels an arm go around him, helping him up. Oh, God, JC, and all Lance can think is that he smells like puke and his whole body is clammy with sweat, and he wants to melt into the floor and die, but he manages to grit out a smile. "Thanks. I'm okay." He disentangles himself, moving to the sink to rinse his mouth at least, splash water on his face to dilute the shame. 

"Are you--are you guys done already?" His throat is raw. He hates throwing up, but he'll shrug it off; he has to. "Did they send you to get me?" There aren't any hand towels, so he wipes his face on his shirtsleeve. He can't quite make himself look JC in the eye yet. 

The only rational answer is to send him home. He knows that, knew it before the words were out of Johnny's mouth. It's true; he's _not_ as good as the rest of them. He wasn't prepared for this. And the fact that it's not his fault doesn't make a bit of difference; he may not be old enough to drink or vote, but he's old enough to know that. It's just the way things go, and it's not like he hated his old life. He was happy at home, with his family, his friends. He won't be sorry to leave behind the mediocre food, the lack of privacy, the constant exhaustion. 

And none of that changes the fact that his eyes are still burning, leaking, and he's afraid the apologetic look on JC's face will break him entirely. He doesn't want to go back to Clinton, doesn't want to be a failure, but more than that, he doesn't want these guys, these guys he's tried so damn hard to fit in with, to pity him. 

He takes a breath, presses his fingers hard against his eyes for a second, and then stands up straight. "Do they want to talk to me?" he asks, forcing himself to turn to JC, demanding that his voice not crack. "Or should I just, y'know. Go back to the house and pack." It's not so bad, he thinks. Maybe getting this out of the way early will make him a better person or something. Maybe the plane will crash on the way home. 

He's still not looking at JC, not really, but he sees him shaking his head and reaching out. "Lance," JC begins, then clears his throat a little, "God, no, how can you... we don't..." His hand comes up to Lance's shoulder, gripping it gently. "We said no. We told Johnny to tell them no." 

No. How could they say no? Lance wrenches his shoulder out from under JC's hand. His voice shakes when he speaks. "That's... that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, JC." He spits the words out. "They're right. You know they're right, we all do." 

And now he looks at JC, challenging him to lie, to try to deny it. Lance hates the shocked, hurt expression in JC's soft eyes. What right does JC have to look hurt? He's not the one who's been found out, singled out as a loser. He knows how to sing and dance. He's always been good enough. 

Lance shakes his head to clear it, so he can explain, in terms even JC will understand. He makes his voice cold. "There isn't any choice, JC. I don't want to be the one who holds everyone else back. I don't want to be here just because y'all felt sorry for me." 

JC frowns a little and moves closer to Lance. The bathroom is small; Lance tries to take a step backwards and ends up with his back to the wall. He tries not to breathe on JC, but JC doesn't seem to care. In fact, JC leans even closer, and when he speaks he hardly has to do more than whisper and Lance can hear him just fine. 

"Lance, this isn't about us feeling sorry for you. I mean--of course, we're sorry this happened. But not sorry for you. We just--we all think the Germans are wrong. There wasn't any discussion, we all feel the same." JC's hands come up to grip Lance's arms, tightly this time. "We're not changing the name, and we're not letting you go. There's no NSYNC without you." 

The earnest tone of JC's voice and the look in his eyes are too much, too much. Lance closes his eyes and tips his head back against the wall. It doesn't matter what JC says. How could he ever understand, anyway? Even if Lance stays, now, he'll always know that everyone knows, that he wasn't good enough and he's only there on charity. 

And thinking that, Lance wishes he were back home, anywhere but here with JC in his face, practically leaning on him in this tiny bathroom, no way for him not to notice the tears slipping out from under Lance's closed eyelids. God. Could his life get any worse than this? 

Lance drags in a breath, and it's a sniffle, and he coughs, too, mucus mixing with bile in his throat, and it's all just so disgusting. _He's_ so disgusting. He pulls away from JC, leaning over the sink again, more water on his face and he cups his hand under the tap. He'd give a lot for a toothbrush right now, or some mouthwash. He makes do with water, rinsing and spitting until his mouth tastes halfway clean. 

And JC's still standing there, half a step away from him. "What do you want?" Lance finally asks, feeling water drip off his chin. "You--it makes no sense. This is your big chance, all of you. You think you're gonna get offered something better? With me in the group?" He tries to make his voice sound hard instead of sad. He's afraid it's not working very well. "Think again." 

JC sighs. He has the most expressive face Lance has ever seen. It blazes with joy when he's happy--and right now, he looks like his dog just died. "I wish this hadn't happened," JC says. "When Johnny said--I..." He looks down at the worn tile of the floor. "I kept thinking how you must feel. How much it hurts, hearing stuff like that." 

"Oh, yeah." Lance manages a short laugh. "Like you'd know." He doesn't want to make JC feel bad. He likes JC--JC and Joey are probably his favorite guys in the group--but he can't keep from lashing out, just a little. Alone, he could have dealt with this. Cried some more, maybe, then gone back out and pretended he was okay. But this--it's too raw. He's not ready. 

Which, of course, is the whole problem. "Like anyone would ever say that kind of stuff to you," he continues. "You're--you're perfect. What would you know about screwing up?" Maybe if he can get JC to fight back, he won't feel like quite such a pathetic loser. 

JC doesn't say anything for a minute, and when Lance looks at him, he still looks sad rather than angry. "I mess up all the time," he finally says. "You've seen me." 

Lance rolls his eyes. He should have known, it's pretty much impossible to fight with JC. "You mess up _once_ , C. Maybe once, in a whole day of new stuff, and that's while you're singing like a--like a freakin' _angel_ , so who'd care if you messed up more than that anyway? Me, I manage to screw up the stuff we were supposed to have memorized months ago." He shakes his head. "Listen. You're a nice guy. I know you're tryin' to make me feel better, and I appreciate it, I do. But it's--" He falters. He doesn't want to say this, not out loud, doesn't want to make it real that way, even though he's thought it, alone in the dark, pretty much every night since his mom went home and he started living this ridiculous dream 24/7. But then again, what does it matter now, anyway? 

"It's okay," he continues, more slowly. "I know, do you think I can't see? I may not be able to dance, but I'm not stupid. I don't belong. I never belonged, you guys were just in a rush and my voice fit okay and you thought it would work and... it didn't. I'm sorry. I wish I could make myself better, God, I wish it so bad. But I can't. I'm doing my best and it's not good enough and really, it's better for all of us if I go home and go back to school, and you guys can have your contract and everything--everything'll be fine. Maybe you can, y'know, send me postcards from Europe. Or something." That sounds so pathetic, but damn, isn't he allowed to be a little bit pathetic? Once in a while? 

JC just looks at Lance with those sad eyes and then puts an arm around him. Before Lance can pull away, JC opens the bathroom door, urging Lance back out into the hall, then into a small room next door that's set up as a waiting room; a couple of ugly couches and a low table with an ashtray and some industry magazines take up almost all the available space. JC shuts the door behind them and pushes Lance down on one couch, then sits facing him on the other, so close that their knees almost touch. They just sit there for a minute, and Lance closes his eyes as he imagines the phone call to his mother tonight, telling her he's coming home. 

Finally JC speaks again. "You're not just in the group because we were in a rush to find a bass, Lance. I hope you don't really believe that." His voice is quiet but Lance has heard that tone in it before, and he knows that JC means what he's saying. "You belong here. With us. Nobody's going home unless we all go home." Which makes no sense, because this _is_ home for the rest of them, but JC doesn't seem to see anything unreasonable about it. 

Lance glances quickly at JC, then frowns down at his fingers laced together on his knees. It's wrong, just so wrong to make the rest of the group suffer for his failure, and it makes him mad that JC can't understand that, or won't. He whispers when he answers, so his voice won't break into a sob. "Didn't you hear what I said? I'm not good enough. I'll never be good enough." He draws a shuddering breath. "Can't you just let me go in peace? Why do you have to make this harder?" He hates the way he sounds, whining like a little kid, but God, why can't JC understand? 

He hears a sigh and then a hand is on his chin, pulling his face up so he has no choice but to look at JC. Lance's hands grow clammy once more as he realizes how close they're sitting, face to face. Then JC starts to talk. 

"You know I was on MMC. The whole time I was on that show, it was like..." He bites his lip, and Lance can see him trying to find the right words. "I knew they were going to figure out that I didn't know what I was doing, that I wasn't really supposed to be there. Every day I went to the studio thinking that would be the day they kicked me off the show because I wasn't good enough." 

Lance doesn't understand. He's seen the Mickey Mouse Club, and JC was one of the best kids on there. "That's stupid. Why would you feel that way? It obviously wasn't true." 

JC shrugs. "It felt true to me. And then, well..." He shakes his head, one hand flapping like a confused bird. "Anyway. I've gotten better at hiding it, but I still feel that way sometimes. I'm not smart like Chris and I sure don't have his range; I'll never be able to work a crowd like Joey, and Justin--well, Justin was born to be a star, there's no arguing with that. Even you--Lance, you're new at this, but you've got a gorgeous voice--I feel lucky to be in a group with you. Sure, I can learn dance moves, I've been doing it for years, but what else do I add? I look like a dork, I have almost the same range as Justin--" 

Lance can't believe he's hearing this. _JC_ feels lucky to be in the group? "You're nuts," he says flatly. "You--your voice is so much better than Justin's." It's true, which makes what JC said that much sweeter. Lance can't really appreciate it now, but in the back of his head, he's tucking away the knowledge that JC likes his voice. He knows that's something he'll want to remember, later. After he's gone home. 

Which brings his thoughts back to himself. His failure. "Anyhow, it's not your opinion that matters, right? It's this--whatever his name is, from BMG." 

JC gives an exasperated sigh. "No. See, Lance, that's what you've got wrong. His opinion isn't important. He's just some shortsighted German suit. Me, the other guys, all of us. All of us together, we're the ones who count." 

Lance wants to believe him, but he can't. He's always been honest with himself; it's something he prides himself on. He knows a lot of things about himself that he'd rather not know, that he'd never say out loud, but it doesn't mean he can't see them. "It's not just him," he points out wearily. "You think Lou would disagree with him? Or Johnny? Even--JC, like I said, I'm not stupid. I know how frustrating it must be for y'all, going over and over things that you know in your sleep already, just because I keep messing up." 

JC's eyes flicker down, and Lance knows JC won't tell a flat-out lie to his face. "Okay," he says. "Okay, sometimes it's hard--'cause we're all tired and cranky, you know? But--" He's touching Lance again, his thin fingers feeling cool on Lance's knee. Lance tries not to think about that. Concentrates on JC's words. "Lance, just because it's hard doesn't mean it's not worth it. Right? All of this is hard--I mean, we knew it would be, but you never really _know_ until you're living it, right? But it's like..." His fingers press, squeeze, and Lance looks away, focusing on the worn plastic-wood of the tabletop. The veneer's peeling off on one corner. "We're a family, Lance. All of us. You don't send back one of your brothers because he's not perfect. You'd never do that, would you? If they said Chris was too old or Justin was too young or I was too dorky or _whatever_ , would you ditch us?" 

"Of course not." Lance shifts a little, and JC's fingers slip away, and Lance tells himself he doesn't notice. "But that would never happen," Lance continues. "And, y'know, we may be a 'family,'" making quote marks with his hands, "but how long is that gonna last if we can't get a record deal? I mean, I like you guys, all of you, you're the best, but this--how long is Lou gonna pay for us, the house and everything, if we're not making any money? He's a great guy and all, but you know he's in business to make a profit. And I--it's just that you, you and Justin, heck, all of you were working in the industry already before this. I wasn't. My folks, if this doesn't work out, my folks aren't gonna let me stay here forever and keep trying to learn to dance. I'll end up goin' back, and--" Damn, he's crying again, why does he have to be such a _girl_ about this? "It's just better," he forces out. "If I go now, then at least y'all have a chance. I won't have screwed it up for everyone." 

JC doesn't say anything. Lance has his eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the tears, and for a minute the only sound in the room is his own choppy breathing. 

"Do you want to go home?" The words are soft, gentle. Sad. Lance swallows, and scrubs his hand across his eyes. "I can understand, if that's what you want," JC says, shaping the words slowly, his voice almost a whisper. "It is, this--it's hard. It is. If you, if it's not how you want to live--" 

"No," Lance breathes. "I want to. God, I want to. I mean, I--we all--get tired. But I want..." He trails off, shrugs, hands open. God. _He wants._ He wants everything. To be here, with them. To be part of the group. To be as important to the group as--well, not Justin or JC, but one of the others. Joey, say. To be good enough. 

JC shifts, one of his weird little bursts of motion, surging over to sit next to Lance. He settles close, he doesn't even seem to realize how close. One hand goes behind Lance's back, resting on the back of the sofa, and JC leans even closer when he talks. "Good. I--we want you to stay, too. We need you. We don't want you to go home." JC's voice is warm, coaxing him. "You're... we got lucky, Lance, when we found you. Come on, you have to stay. Don't leave us." 

Lance allows himself to feel it for a second, how JC's words pull at him, the sweet ache deep in his chest. He could stay, he's starting to believe that now, and more than half of him wants to. But it's wrong to hold them back, to let them sacrifice their chances for him. He'd never forgive himself, and if they didn't make it with him, he knows that someday they wouldn't be able to forgive him either. The thought almost makes him choke. How would it feel, to hear all the affection in JC's voice turned to resentment and disgust? No. He can't let himself do it. He can't let JC and the others risk their future like that, on him. 

"No." He tries to make it sound final, tries to flatten his shaky voice. "It's no use, JC. It's not gonna work." JC's so close that Lance can feel him, the heat of his body competing with the building's haphazard air conditioning. Lance draws a steadying breath. "Maybe it seems like I'm a wimp for running away. But I just can't do this. I can't. I know you say you've felt insecure before, but you don't know. You probably can't even imagine how this feels, you've never not been good enough for _anything_." 

He's not really sure what he expects JC to say to that. It probably sounds like he's looking for more reassurance, but he isn't, at least he doesn't think he is. He's trying to be honest. He's doing his best. 

"That's not..." JC makes a strangled little noise, stops. There's a long pause, and finally Lance glances over and sees that JC's eyes are down, and he's flushed. After another moment he looks up at Lance and bites his lip. "You don't know, Lance." His voice sounds different. Older. Tired. "I... I did, I do know. I know exactly how it feels." He raises one hand to his short-cropped hair, twists his fingers in the strands, pulling hard. "I--see, this--this is why, you gotta believe me, Lance, I know, it's us that count. The five of us. Even if it seems like it makes things harder sometimes, we've all got to stick together." 

Lance stares at him. "C... you're not making any sense." He says it gently; JC gets like this sometimes, his thoughts working on a different plane than his mouth. 

JC doesn't reply right away, just looks down a second and frowns at his hands. His fingers clench in his lap, then release, and he looks up at Lance. "I know how it feels. To be--you know, to be not good enough." Lance sees he's serious, but still can't believe JC's ever been turned down, for anything. Justin told him about JC's audition for MMC, how they loved everything he did, how they said yes on the spot. It was like a legend on the set. 

But JC's shaking his head now, and he looks upset. Lance doesn't know what to say, so he's relieved when JC starts speaking again. "It was after. You know, after the show was cancelled. Did you know I went to California?" 

Lance nods. He'd heard something, that JC had been out there, but no details. He'd come back home after just a few months. Lance had figured JC had been homesick or something. But maybe that's not why he came back. Maybe it was more than that. 

"Yeah. I went--to LA. I didn't know exactly what... well, some of the other kids from MMC had gone out there, some of the ones who left earlier, and Tony, another guy who was on with Justin and me, he said he was getting work, so. I thought maybe I could go out there and find something new, something--for me. You know. TV, or singing, something." 

JC stops, and Lance can see he's upset to even be talking about it, so he tries to be encouraging. "I think you'd be good at TV, something like that. I saw you on the Mickey Mouse Club. You were really good." 

JC laughs a little, but it doesn't sound happy. "Well, thanks. I guess if you'd been a casting director, maybe things would've been different." He looks up at Lance and sighs. "I was turned down everywhere. And you know, they weren't any meaner to me than they were to anyone else, I know that, but the things they said were... really hard to hear." 

Lance can't even imagine what kinds of things they might have said. It couldn't have been anything like what Johnny told them the BMG guy had said about him, Lance. JC's so talented, and cool... 

"At every audition it was like, people looking at me and knowing the things I was most afraid of hearing. Like, they would say I was too skinny. Or too geeky or too young." JC colors, his voice low as he tells secrets it's obviously hard for him to share. "Sometimes they laughed about the Mickey Mouse Club. Sometimes they said I couldn't dance sexy enough." 

Lance is shocked. _Couldn't dance sexy enough?_ Dang, what on earth were they looking for? 

JC swallows hard. "After awhile, I started to believe that they were right, all the things they were saying. That I wasn't good enough for anything I was trying for. So I started to shoot a little lower. I thought--I wanted to make it, you know? I thought I'd be willing to do anything." 

Lance shivers at the tone in JC's voice. 

"It's not--" JC shrugs. "It could've been a lot worse." Looking at JC's carefully blank expression, Lance doesn't really want to think how. "I'd auditioned for soap operas. Music videos. After-school specials. I tried commercials. I felt pretty stupid, but plenty of people have done those; it wouldn't have been the end of the world. But even there, there always seemed to be _something_ wrong with me." Another harsh laugh. "I kept a list, for a while. How many different things they could come up with. Bad teeth, weird mouth, big nose. Repetitions didn't count. I thought, y'know, if I laughed about it maybe it wouldn't be so bad. When the list got to three pages, I tore it up." 

Lance thinks he might be sick again. _JC._ How could anyone be so--he knows, he knows it's a business, but this just seems... cruel. Couldn't the people see what they were doing with their words? 

JC's still talking. "One day this woman pulled me aside at an audition for a new Saturday morning show. Gave me a card. She said she thought I had just the look her company wanted. I should call, make an appointment..." 

Lance knows better than to smile. Obviously, whatever this was, it had turned out to be another cruel joke. He tries to keep his expression calm, like JC's; keep from betraying the depth of the pain JC is sharing with him. Now it's his hand that creeps out, fingers shyly touching the outer seam of JC's khakis. 

JC doesn't quite meet Lance's eyes as he keeps talking. "So, I mean, I knew. Not to expect too much. There had to be something wrong, I wasn't stupid, I'd been in town a while, but I couldn't--I couldn't help hoping that maybe, somehow, it might be... something. It was so nice to hear, y'know? That someone might want me after all. It only takes one break, right?" Lance nods. He can feel JC's body heat through the fabric, alive against his fingertips. 

"They had me come out to their studios, out in Chatsworth, in the Valley. And everything was fine, kind of bare bones but it was a real office and all. There were a few other guys there too, waiting, not a cattle call though, just, like, three or four. It seemed okay at first, I filled out the forms they gave me and when it was my turn they asked me to read, just a page out of a book, not even a script, but it was nice, y'know, actually getting to read at all? Instead of just having them shake their heads when I walked in the door." 

Lance nods. He doesn't know what's coming, but he knows it won't be good. JC's not hesitating anymore, though. He just keeps talking, the words flowing flat and clear. 

"So we were there, me and two--a guy and a lady--not the same lady I'd met at the other audition, someone else--they were at a table in this, like, conference room-type room, and I was standing to read. And when I was done they didn't say much, but they didn't say _no thanks_ either, so that was cool." He pauses. Draws a breath and glances up at Lance before continuing. "Then they told me to take my clothes off." 

Lance holds his breath. He doesn't want to hear this. Doesn't want to know. Maybe he should go back to Mississippi. Maybe he isn't meant to make it in this business. And at the same time, deep inside him there's a wire that's heating, glowing with the knowledge that JC trusts him with this. He thinks--he doesn't know why, but he doesn't think Chris knows about this. Joey probably does. He hopes Justin doesn't. But here, now, JC is trusting _him_. 

"I..." JC glances at him, just a split second, then looks away again. "I should've left right away," he says. "But I... I don't know. It was so--" He shakes his head. "I wanted to make it so badly. So badly." JC's breath is hitching in his throat. Lance wants to run away, but he holds still, listening. Waiting. "I, um... Yeah. So, I. I stripped. Down to my underwear first, and then they were still looking at me, waiting, so..." He swallows. "Yeah. So I stood there, trying to figure out what to do with my hands, and I--I kept waiting for them to say, y'know, what everyone else had said. Too skinny. All that. Or, God, something worse. But they didn't. They just looked at me for a minute, had me turn around--they had, like, note pads and all, taking notes, and then they were, like, okay, can you--" 

JC stops. He's blushing so dark Lance is starting to worry about him. "They wanted me to--" He swallows hard, makes a gesture, and Lance can't take it anymore. 

"God, JC--" He can't imagine. He simply can't. It's beyond anything he ever could have dreamt. It's like some horror story people back home would tell to scare the kids, about why you shouldn't go to the big city. Only this is real. This happened. And JC says it could've been worse. The anguish knotting Lance's stomach pretty much blots out any sexuality in the image of JC naked, _JC touching himself_ , and Lance is grateful for that. 

"I couldn't," JC says, and Lance thinks, _thank God_. "I don't even remember what I said, I just... got dressed, drove back to the apartment. I was sharing with some other guys, and they were all, _Man, you should've gone for it, easy money_." He bites his lower lip. "I thought about it, thought maybe I could call the lady again, say I was sorry I'd bailed... but in the end I called my parents instead. I didn't tell them... I mean, I just said things weren't working out, that I wanted to come back, take another look at my plans. They didn't ask too many questions, just booked me a ticket home. Maybe they figured I didn't have what it takes." 

Lance swallows, then takes a breath, consciously opening his throat so the inhalation will be silent. He has to say something, and it has to be right. "No," is what comes out. "They didn't think that, because it's not true." That much is certain as gospel to him. Nobody looking at JC--nobody who cares about him--could think that. "I think," he continues, "they probably figured that if you were coming home, you had a good reason for it. And you'd tell them when it was right." 

JC's lips curve in something like a smile, and he looks down at the strip of cheap carpet between the couch and the table. "You give me an awful lot of credit." 

Lance shrugs. "It's true." 

"I never told them." 

"I guess the right time hasn't come yet." 

That gets a soft chuckle. Blue eyes slant up to meet his. "You're a good guy, Lance," JC says. "You're--see, this is what I was saying earlier. This is why we need each other. So when bad stuff happens--and it's gonna happen, this business, it's pretty ugly sometimes--but if we have each other, to talk to, to count on, then we can get through. I think... I don't know. I just feel like, if I'd had someone there, in LA, someone to talk to, someone I could trust--someone who I knew, I _knew_ had my back, always, no matter what--maybe it would've made a difference. Somehow." 

Lance nods. He's not really sure he agrees--that is, he's not sure JC's argument means he, Lance, is good enough to stay, to be more than a liability to the rest of them. But the stuff about counting on each other, that part sounds good. 

JC shifts again, some tension that had gone unnoticed earlier draining away, and he turns, facing Lance, arms going around him to pull him close before Lance even has a chance to react. Not that he needs to react. It's not like they don't hug each other. They all do, Joey more than any of them, but JC's not far behind, his long arms flying up without warning, after a rehearsal or before an interview or just whenever, wrapping around you and squeezing you tight. This is more of the same. 

Only it isn't. Somehow, something about the quiet, characterless room; the way Lance feels hollow, emptied of food and purged of emotion; the intimacy of the conversation they've just shared--no, this doesn't feel the same at all. Lance is acutely aware of JC's body against his, the warmth of his skin, the strength of his slim frame pressed against Lance's chest and thigh, the scent of his aftershave. When JC speaks again, Lance can feel him forming the words, feel the vibration against his own throat, feel JC's breath raising the short hairs on the back of Lance's neck. "If nothing else," JC whispers, "even if I still didn't get a single job, at least it wouldn't have been so lonely." 

Maybe that's the difference, Lance thinks. Usually JC's hugs are to give comfort. But right now, even though it was Lance who was crying before, it's obvious who's hurting more, and Lance's arms go up, only a little clumsy, to stroke JC's neck and back, to offer whatever support he can. 

When Lance hugs back, JC leans into him with a small sigh. "'s okay," Lance whispers after a few moments, the words catching in his throat. "You're not alone anymore." He tightens his arms around JC, squeezing briefly before he starts to let go. 

JC doesn't move away as the hug ends, just stays close, beside Lance, watching his face. "Please stay, Lance," he says softly, a small frown creasing his brow. "We need you here. We--I want you to stay. I really--Maybe I'm being selfish, if you really wanna go, but I... Please?" 

Lance swallows and looks down. JC's asking him to stay. Not for the group, not because they need a bass, even a bass who can't dance. For him. For JC. 

And now Lance can't help but think about the possible up side of staying. He knows he shouldn't, shouldn't let himself imagine that he and any of the guys could ever be more than just bandmates. Friends, yes, they're friends now, and that's good. Anything more than that, though--even if it's only in his mind--is too dangerous. If Lou found out... not just that he's not good enough, but this other thing. What Lance hasn't said to anyone, but he knows it can't be long before someone figures out: how much he likes being around the other guys. Especially JC, especially Joey. How much he wants... 

If Lou found out, he'd probably send Lance home anyway, even without the dancing. And Lance knows that if they do get a deal, if they manage to get a deal despite his presence in the group, then the stakes get even higher. That's just one more reason he should leave, really. 

"Please, Lance?" JC repeats his question, and Lance feels his face heat in response. JC's still sitting way too close, and it crosses Lance's mind that if anyone comes in now there's going to be some explaining to do. He makes himself shift away from JC on the couch. 

"I... I can't, JC." It makes him so sad to say the words, and this sadness is different than it was before. Deeper, somehow. When he glances over, his sadness is mirrored in JC's eyes. "I'm not right for NSYNC, not really." 

"But..." 

" _No._ " He doesn't mean to sound angry, but JC flinches. "I'm sorry," Lance tries to soothe, "I just... it's not even only about the performing, really." His heart beats faster. He's not going to tell JC about this, is he? He's never said anything to anyone about it. _Until now_ , whispers in his head. 

JC reaches out again, a hand on Lance's knee. "What is it, Lance? Tell me. Maybe I can help." His voice is gentle. 

Help? Lance doesn't think so, but he hates to refuse to talk. Especially after what JC just told him, shared with him. 

He takes a breath. Tries not to think too hard. It's not the end of the world. Or, if he looks at it a different way, the end of the world happened already, so whatever comes now doesn't matter so much, right? "I," he starts, and then he doesn't know where to go from there. "I'm not--" 

His thoughts won't come together, won't make sense. Is he really going to say it? Should he? He's not sure, really--after all, it's not like he's ever--maybe he's wrong, maybe his... feelings... are just some teenage thing, maybe he's making this whole big awful problem up, and if he just keeps his mouth shut, it will all go away. He wants that, so badly. To be normal. To be like the other guys. 

Instead of _liking_ other guys. 

"I don't know," he mutters. "I don't think it's anything you can help with, JC." 

JC's shoulder nudges his, one of those guy touches that aren't supposed to mean anything, that Lance has always cherished more than he knows he should. 

He needs to say it. He wants it not to be true, but he wants a lot of things, doesn't he, and that doesn't mean he can have them. At least he can be honest. That much he can have. "I'm not, um," he says again. "Not the kind of guy you want in the group." Okay. Okay, that was a start. 

He's not looking at JC, but he hears the soft sigh. "Lance, you need to be a little more specific than that." _Damn._ "You're a great singer. A good guy. You bathe regularly." JC giggles, and Lance's throat clenches up. He'd been doing so well, he'd thought. Not thinking about the guys that way. And now all he can focus on is how soft the skin on the back of JC's neck felt, how warm JC was when they were hugging. "What more could we want?" JC asks. 

You want someone normal, Lance wants to say. Someone you can share a room with and not have to worry that he's checking you out. Someone who can flirt with the girls, like Joey, make them smile and scream. You don't want a pansy. A freak. " _Fag._ " He breathes the word more than says it, and he didn't mean even to do that. He's never actually said it before. It just, it's what he's been thinking, what he's been trying not to think, what he's been trying to find some way around for so long now, and it just... came out. He holds his breath, his heart pounding. He wants to close his eyes, but he won't do that, won't be a coward too. 

So his eyes are open, and he can see JC's face change. See him bite his lower lip, see his expression go blank. Lance straightens up, trying to steel himself. JC wouldn't hit him, he's not like that, but watching him close himself off, Lance thinks a simple punch in the face would probably hurt less. 

JC clears his throat. "I..." he starts. His face is flushed. He stands up, bumping awkwardly against the table as he steps quickly away from the couch, and Lance feels like a piece of him has been torn off. He knew to expect this, but he'd still hoped... 

"I'm sorry, Lance," JC says, and the softness is gone from his voice, replaced by something harsh and jagged. "I mean--" He shakes his head. "I'm not sorry. I mean, I'm not going to apologize for who I--I'm sorry if it bothers you, I didn't think it would, not so much anyway, I didn't mean for you to know, and I hope you know I would never-- _never_ \--have, you know, done anything to you," he finishes vehemently. His hands are pressed tight against his sides, his fingers turning white where they grip his thighs. "I know it might not be something you're comfortable with. But I have to say, I didn't think you'd be quite so..." 

Lance blinks. He's not sure he's understanding correctly. But it sure sounds like-- "JC, no, I--" 

But before Lance can say anything more, ask what in the world JC means, JC shakes his head, a helpless motion. He opens the door a crack and, muttering something Lance can't hear, disappears down the hall. 

Lance stands still a moment, stunned, before throwing the door open and looking outside. JC had turned left, he thinks, the opposite direction from the room they'd all been meeting in with Johnny earlier, but the hallway is empty and the only door in that direction is the door to the stairs. 

Looking down the stairwell, he doesn't see anything, doesn't hear anyone going down. They're on the fifth floor; JC'd still be on the stairs if he were going to the lobby. So Lance takes the stairs up, two at a time, only one more flight to the roof. 

The roof door has one of those signs on it that says it's supposed to be used only for emergencies, but it's not quite latched and there's no alarm ringing, so Lance pushes it all the way open and steps out into the hazy late afternoon light. It's muggy out here, and not too far in the distance he can see thunderheads gathering. The air is heavy with the smell of an approaching storm. 

"JC?" Lance doesn't see anyone when he steps onto the roof, and when he calls, there's no answer. So he walks around, looking, his feet crunching on the gravel. 

His heart is pounding, and he doesn't know what he's going to say if he finds JC. He just knows he has to try to fix things, to make things better. He's still shocked by JC's response, what he was saying downstairs. He can't have meant... but what else could he have meant? Lance never thought someone he respected so much could be... like that. Like him. And even just thinking that, he feels a wild flicker of hope deep within himself, hope that it might somehow be okay. That _he_ might be okay. 

He finds JC leaning against the wall behind the building's HVAC unit. When Lance comes around the corner, JC's back is to him, his arms wrapped around himself. Lance aches when he sees the set of JC's shoulders, the way the misery seems to pour off of him. _I did that._ His throat is dry when he tries to speak. 

"JC. Can I talk to you?" 

"No." JC hugs himself tighter and doesn't turn around. "Leave me alone, Lance." Lance wants to cry at the hurt and anger in JC's voice. 

"Please. I have to... I just have to say... " 

Now JC whirls around furiously, and Lance sees that his face is red and damp. "I think you've said enough. I don't want to hear any more from you." JC looks away, frowning. "I came in there--I told you... things I don't tell just anyone--because I thought maybe I could help you feel better. I never thought you'd... be such a bigot. Such a _jerk_." 

"No, no, please, JC, please listen to me." Lance is nearly crying now too. "I--I didn't mean--" 

"Well then you shouldn't have said it, should you?" JC is practically spitting the words out now, and Lance makes himself take a step forward. 

He speaks quickly and forces the words out without thinking, before he can reconsider. "I wasn't talking about you. I was talking about me." JC looks up, confused. "I was saying I'm--" he falters. Saying it makes it real, and he doesn't want to make it real. But one more look at JC's face pulls it out of him. "I was saying I'm a--a fag. Not you. I didn't--you--I didn't know. And even if I had, I never would've said something, something like that, about you." 

He finishes and stands there, panting a little, his blood rushing in his ears so loudly that he can't tell if JC's even saying anything back. He shivers, an involuntary reaction that feels wrong in the damp heat. It's true. It's real. There's no going back. He thinks that's maybe not true; he could still change his mind, it doesn't count if he's never _done_ anything, surely--but at the same time a voice in the back of his head is saying, no, he can't. He said it because it was true, and no matter what he does or doesn't do, it won't change what he knows deep in his soul. Whether he wants to know it or not. 

"You?" The heat from the sun eases a bit, and he realizes JC's stepped closer, blocking some of the light. JC's expression is still haunted, uncertain, but at least his earlier anger seems to have faded. 

Lance nods. "Yeah." He tries to stand up straight, tries not to look as ashamed as he feels. He looks at JC and thinks, again, if _he_ is, then maybe it's not--not quite as bad as Lance always feared. "Yeah, I--I mean, I haven't... but I... yeah." 

Blue eyes bore into his, and he meets them, trying to read something, trying to understand. About himself, about JC--really, Lance thinks he just doesn't understand anything at this point. "Oh," JC says after a long silence. "I--okay." He looks around, like he's just now seeing the rooftops around them, the ominous sky overhead. 

Thunder cracks and they both jump, and as the first fat raindrops splatter down JC pulls Lance close automatically, using his own body to try to shield Lance from the storm, the same way he would have yesterday or last week--and then he hesitates. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--" 

Lance shakes his head. "It's okay." He reaches out, only a little awkward, and mirrors JC's gesture, putting his arm around too-bony shoulders. "We're still friends, right? I mean--" 

What does he mean? Of course he wants to still be friends with JC. But he can't help feeling the muscle under his fingertips, thinking, wondering if maybe, if JC is... that way, too, if maybe he might... want... 

It's not like he's never thought about it before. He has, from the very first days he was in the group. But he's never let himself think that maybe, maybe-- 

"We should go inside," JC says, further scattering Lance's thoughts. The rain is coming down stronger now, and they're well on their way to being soaked. 

Lance tries to nod, he knows JC's right, but he can't quite make himself turn back toward the door, and then he feels heat streaking down his cheeks and realizes he's crying. He does turn away then, feeling his self-control collapse in on itself and vanish. Everything seems to be swirling like the damp air, and he presses wet fingers to his eyes, trying to find something solid to hold onto. 

"Hey--" There's an arm around his shoulders again, pulling him close. "Lance, hey, it's okay, what's wrong, shh--" 

He tries not to, tries to be strong, tries to stop crying like a little kid, but no matter how hard he tries the tears just keep coming, and he's grateful to the rain for what little camouflage it provides. "It's not," he tries to explain, "I don't--I never--" He must look like a complete idiot, and he knows how ugly he gets when he cries, but he can't help it. It's like the ocean washing over him--dizzying, overwhelming. 

After a while he realizes they're sitting down, sheltered from the worst of the shower by the lip of the low wall that runs around the edge of the roof. The gravel is hard and damp underneath him, but that's not important. He's sniffling into JC's shirt, JC's arms protectively around him, one hand stroking down his back. "It's okay," JC murmurs again, just loud enough for Lance to hear over the rain beating down. "It's okay, Lance, just get it out." 

The kindness in JC's voice is too much for Lance, and if he'd been thinking he was going to be able to get control of himself any time soon, he was wrong. JC pulls him closer, whispering more words of comfort, and Lance finally stops fighting himself and leans into JC's strength, sobbing against his shoulder. 

JC's already seen him at his worst, Lance thinks. At this point, he probably can't get any more pathetic in JC's eyes. So he lets himself cry it all out: the shock of hearing Johnny's news, his fears about himself, how much he hates himself for hurting JC. But most of all, the strange, terrifying relief of having said it aloud, having admitted what he really is to another person. 

As the spring storm passes, Lance's sobs subside, leaving his head pounding and eyes scratchy. He pulls away a little and wipes his eyes and nose on his sleeve before whispering, "Sorry." 

JC keeps a hand on his back, rubbing gently, and when Lance looks at him, all he sees in JC's eyes is patience. "It's okay." 

They sit there in silence for another minute, shivering in their clammy clothes, before JC asks, "Are you... do you want to talk about it?" 

Lance wraps his arms around himself before answering. He doesn't want to talk about it, and at the same time he's never wanted anything more in his life. "I never," he starts. "I mean, I've always liked, um, looking at, looking at guys. Pictures, and--and baseball, like, I watch a lot of baseball." He shouldn't be embarrassed, right? JC likes the same things he does. It's still hard for him to believe, though; hard to admit. "I just, that was the first time I ever said--anything, said that I was, you know, like that. To anyone." He sighs, glancing over at JC before continuing. "I never really knew anyone else who was, either. I didn't know about you. I thought anyone who was... I thought they were probably freaks. Not someone like you, someone so..." Lance stops before he embarrasses himself even more. 

Then he feels JC go tense, and looks over to see him biting his lip, trying to control his features. Finally, setting his jaw, JC meets Lance's gaze and asks, "What do you mean, 'like me'?" and Lance realizes that, even now, JC is afraid of hearing the answer. 

It doesn't make sense. JC--of all people, JC doesn't have anything to be afraid of, and certainly not from _Lance_. Yet there he is, looking like... like Lance feels, every time Lou's in the back of the room when they're rehearsing. 

Lance shakes his head, speaking quickly, trying to keep from messing everything up again. "God, JC. You're... you're such a great person, so cool and talented and... amazing." Lance can see JC starting to relax, and he takes a second to swallow and search for the right words. "I know Chris started the group, but it seems like you're the guy who holds us all together. Like, everyone comes to you when they have a problem or whatever, and you care about all of us and always try to make things okay. Not that I don't like Chris and all, but he just--it's not the same." Lance knows he's blushing, but it's okay. JC is too. 

Lance clears his throat and continues, his voice low. "I didn't, JC, I hope you know I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I never even thought--If I could take it back..." 

JC shakes his head and brushes his fingers over Lance's knee. "No, don't worry about that, Lance. Please?" He sighs. "I mean, I was just so surprised, and you know, it's something I'm kind of self-conscious about. I just thought you were talking about me. I never thought... that you..." He shrugs. 

Lance nods. _Me_ , he thinks. _I am._

"It's okay, you know," JC says. "I mean--" A soft laugh. "I'm probably not the best example, huh? You say one word and I flip out. Not exactly a poster child for gay pride." He takes a breath, looking up at the sky for a moment. The rain has passed, but it's still overcast, and it feels even more humid than before. The guys are going to be looking for them soon, Lance thinks. Unless Johnny took them back to the house. JC has his own car, so they might've done that. "It's hard," JC continues. "I--that was one of the things, on that list, you know? Things people said about me at auditions. Whispering, sometimes, or just saying it flat out. 'Too gay.' It's not much fun to hear, even if you, you know, try to be happy with yourself." 

Lance feels his skin prickle. It's starting to sink in now. It was bad enough, having people talk about his being clumsy. If they say things about... _that_... he doesn't know if he'll be able to stand it. "How--" he asks, hoping JC will know what should come next. 

JC shrugs. "Well, you try to ignore it. You--I tried, you know, I try to be careful, what I wear, what I say, how I say it. We can't afford to be... too obvious. Not now, anyway." 

"You're not," Lance says. "I mean, I don't think--maybe I'm not the best person to say, but--I never would have guessed." 

JC smiles, just for a second, his lips curving and then falling back into a thoughtful line. "Thanks. But--at the same time, Lance, I mean... you need to, you need to be okay with it. There's, um. There's what you show on the outside, and what you know on the inside, right? Like any other performance, that's all it is. But you have to know, really believe, that it's okay. It's not, like, something wrong with you. I'd hate, you know, for you to think that." 

Lance nods slowly. It's nice to hear. Especially nice to hear from JC. He lets his hand fall so it rests on JC's knee, looking up at JC's face to see if it's all right. "Do you--do you really believe that? That it's okay? You don't, y'know, wish you weren't..." 

JC sighs. His hand covers Lance's, fingers damp but Lance treasures the touch. "Do I--" He shrugs. "I guess, yeah, sometimes I wish I didn't--I wish I felt the way people think I'm supposed to feel. It would be easier, that's for sure." Lance thinks that's something they both know down to their bones. "But," JC continues, sounding like this is something he's told himself over and over, "just because it's not easy doesn't make it wrong. It's not, I don't believe--I mean, you were probably raised a lot like I was, church and all, and sometimes it's--it makes you feel bad, right?" Lance thinks he's going to cry again. That's exactly how he feels. Scared and bad and just... wrong. He grips JC's knee a little tighter, and JC shifts closer, putting an arm around him again, warm and comforting. 

"You have to figure the religion thing out for yourself," JC says. "Nothing I tell you can, you know, you have to feel it inside. But I know, I believe--I have to believe that God doesn't hate me. I didn't choose this, it just... _is_. You have to find that belief, and hold on to it, Lance. It's hard, sometimes, but you have to." 

Lance nods, and thinks about that for a minute. He didn't choose it either. Ever since he can remember, he's tried so hard not to think about boys. Back home, he went out on dates with girls, trying to be normal, but it never made a difference. The harder he tried, the more he felt like he was lying. That might be one part that would be better about admitting it, he thinks. 

Who he can admit it to is another question, though. "Have you told people? Like, you know, your family? Or the guys?" 

JC pauses for a moment before answering, but he doesn't seem to mind Lance's questions. "Chris and Joey know. Joey and I have been friends a long time. And I thought I should tell Chris, when he asked me to be in the group, in case it became a problem later on. I didn't want him to be surprised, you know, when it was too late." Lance feels a pang of guilt. He should have said something sooner too. That wasn't very honest of him. But how could he have? He'd never planned to tell anybody. At least, not for a really, really long time. 

"But he didn't care," JC continues. "I already knew how important it was to keep it secret." JC looks at Lance. "You can't keep it secret from everyone, though. Or else you start to feel like your whole life is a lie." 

Lance thinks JC's probably right. He hopes it--telling--gets easier after the first time, though, because if it hadn't been for the way JC misunderstood what he was trying to say, he's not really sure he ever could have gotten it all out. And as he tries to think about what his mom might say if he told her--JC didn't say anything about telling his parents, did he?--he's distracted by JC's hand on his shoulder, the way JC's almost hugging him with one arm around his back. Lance shivers, and he knows it's not just from getting soaked by the rain. God. He really likes JC. He always has. Now things feel... different. Lance wonders again if JC might want... if he could be interested in Lance. But JC's older, more experienced. Maybe Lance isn't his type. Or maybe he already has a boyfriend. 

"What about... do you have, you know, dates? Or, like, a... boyfriend?" Lance is embarrassed by the way he stammers the question out, but JC doesn't seem to notice. 

"I wish," he says, almost wistfully, then in the next breath laughs at himself. "Yeah, like any of us has time for a boyfriend, right? Even aside from the whole keeping it secret thing." 

Lance is trying to pretend he's not hanging on every word. Trying not to show how his breath caught in his throat when JC said he was, well, available. 

JC's still talking. "I mean, I go out. Sometimes. Bars and stuff. It's risky, because I don't want Lou to find out, but sometimes, y'know, you want something more than your own hand..." 

Now Lance is glad he was already breathing carefully, because it saves him from choking. He can feel himself turning scarlet, and just prays JC won't notice. "Oh," he says. "Um. Yeah." 

He's not a very good actor, though, and JC turns toward him. "I'm sorry. Is that--I mean, I'm not, I don't--" JC laughs softly. "I sound like Joey, huh? 'A guy's got needs!'" Lance chuckles too; he's grateful for the chance to relax a little, or try to relax anyway. JC shrugs, continuing. "Well, I don't do it that much. Just... sometimes it's nice, not to--not to pretend. Just for a little while. I think I do it as much for that, for the, the company? As anything else." 

Lance nods. He has no idea, can't really imagine what it would be like, going to a gay bar, purposely going somewhere where everyone was... like him. Like them. It sounds terrifying, even without thinking about the whole sex thing. 

"I'll take you with sometime, if you want," JC's saying. "I mean, I don't think--some places, they don't ID anybody, it seems like. We could try it." He pauses. "Though, really, you might not want..." 

"Thanks," Lance says quickly. "I mean, yeah. I think. I think, for now, I'm just..." He's going to sound like a dork, but it's true. "I'm just glad to know, y'know, about you. To have you to talk to. I think that's enough, at least, for right now." 

JC nods. "Yeah," he says. "That's probably good. I mean, you don't want to... rush into something. It's easy to, um. Get in bad situations. You need to, y'know, be careful. I don't mean safe sex--I mean, I do, but--I don't need to tell you that, right?" Lance shakes his head, his skin hot with embarrassment. "Good," JC continues, "'cause there'll be guys who'll--" Another shrug. "Anyway, yeah. What I meant was, you know, you're young, this is new, you should... take your time. Don't, um, do stuff just because..." 

"I'm not _that_ young." He feels so stupid saying it. He's just bawled all over JC's shirt, for God's sake, JC must think he's seven, not a few days from seventeen. But still... he's not a baby, really. "I, I've known--about myself--for a long time." That's the truth. He'd known, even if he didn't want to, even if he'd tried to convince himself it didn't mean what it obviously meant. And now, suddenly, sitting here next to JC--cute, _experienced_ JC--for the first time, being... what he is... doesn't seem so bad. "I--I mean, you're right, I don't want to... be with some stranger. But." 

Lance's mind is racing. Obvious. Why does he have to be so freaking _obvious_? But JC doesn't seem taken aback. He just smiles. "Yeah. I know what you mean. When you do get with... someone, you know, someone you really like and all, it's--really great." And Lance groans inside, because JC obviously doesn't know what Lance meant. _Or maybe he does, and he's trying to let you down easy_ , a voice in the back of Lance's head whispers. 

JC continues after a second, his voice softer. "I hope, Lance, I hope you'll wait for that. You know. To be with someone... special." He gives Lance's shoulder a squeeze, and smiles. Lance's heart turns over in his chest, and suddenly he knows, even if he ends up looking like the biggest idiot ever, he's not leaving this roof without... something. Saying something. Doing _something_. Because yes, he's young, and maybe he's stupid, but right now he really can't imagine anybody ever being more special than JC. 

Then JC lets go of Lance and starts to push himself up off the gravel. "I guess we should get going, huh?" He brushes his pants off and then leans over to offer Lance his hand. He pulls Lance up. "God, Lance, you're soaked. If you get sick, your mom's gonna kill me." 

Lance stands with JC's help, his knees stiff, and holds on to JC's fingers for a few seconds. "JC," he begins, then doesn't know what else to say. 

"Yeah?" JC's standing close, his fingers still solid against Lance's. 

"Um, thanks. You know. For talking to me about... everything. For telling me all the stuff you told me." Lance stares down at his feet for a moment. 

JC smiles. "Don't thank me, Lance. I'm glad to talk to you. Anytime. Just, you know, I hope--all this stuff about leaving is over now, right? Because none of this--not that idiot from BMG, and certainly not you being gay--" Lance can't help wincing a little at the word, but it doesn't hurt nearly as much coming from JC as it used to in his head. "None of that is a reason for us not to want you in the group. Honestly, if you leave now I don't think we'll make it," JC continues. "NSYNC is the five of us. You can't break us up and expect us to perform the same." 

Lance looks up at JC. He doesn't want to leave anymore, not really. Not if he's not the only one-- _the only gay one_ , he makes himself think--in the group. And definitely not if JC wants him to stay. 

"Okay," he says softly. He watches as JC's eyes crease with his smile. "I'll try. I hope you don't end up regretting this, though." 

And then JC's arms are around him again, squeezing tight, and JC is laughing in his ear. "I won't," he says. "Give yourself more credit, Lance. Just you wait and see. You're gonna be one of the stars of this group, I know it." 

Lance can't help laughing at that. It feels so good, all of it; JC's embrace, and his words--which are so far from the truth Lance can't even imagine any possible response--and most of all the way he feels, now, no longer alone. He knows this hasn't changed anything, not really. He still can't dance; he still won't fit in; he's still funny-looking and he still can't ever relax, really, except those rare moments when he's alone in his room. 

And then he thinks, now maybe he can relax when he's with JC, too. 

He grins, pulling back just far enough to look at JC's smiling face. "If I'm a star, you're gonna be a whole galaxy." And he lifts up on his toes, euphoria lending him courage, and presses his lips to the corner of JC's mouth. It could be nothing more than a friendly kiss; he's certainly kissed girls more elaborately, but kissing a girl has never held the charge this does, for him. Everything seems to sharpen, focus; he's aware of the slip of his feet on the gravel roof, the way his wet clothes drag and pull on his skin, the ache in his throat from tears and sickness, but most of all he's aware of the scent of JC's shampoo, the prick of stubble against his lips, the way JC's body is warm and muscular and fitted to his, for that brief moment, like they were made for each other. _Yes_ , he thinks, with a certainty, a _rightness_ that's entirely unlike the dread that's always accompanied arousal for him. _Yes. This is what I want._

It's over in a second. JC doesn't really kiss back, but he doesn't pull away, either, and Lance makes himself be the one to let go, stand solidly on his feet again. His heart is pounding, but he meets JC's eyes, and after a moment JC smiles at him, ducking his head a little. "We should go inside," JC says, and Lance nods, turning back toward the door to the stairs. 

It's not a huge building, and the door isn't all that far away. But JC's fingers thread through his after only a step or two, their upper arms brushing as they walk, and by the time they get to the staircase, Lance is starting to think that maybe he does belong here, after all. 


End file.
